The Wolf and The Mage
by lycanus1
Summary: A painful betrayal leads a hurt Dagonet to make some radical changes. Will a chance encounter with a mysterious, attractive stranger help him heal or is he destined to live the life of a lone wolf ? *WARNING: totally AU & do I really have to 'fess up to this ? Rated for strong language and mild slash*
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Mr Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures absolutely refuse to play ball and part with them. They're still not mine, although not for the want of trying ... Lucan though, _isn't _the character who featured briefly in the movie – I just really loved the name – and belongs to me.

**Warning: **_Strictly and completely AU. Contains strong language, shape-shifting and slash. This _will_ contain angst and hurt comfort, so you have been warned …_

**A/N:** After experiencing a severe case of writer's block the 1st time around & deleting this, I've decided to bite the bullet and have another crack at it. Personally, I blame Lucan - see my icon and you'll soon understand why :) - for this lapse in judgement and the fact I'm too weak-willed when it comes to resisting temptation !

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**The Wolf and the Mage  
**

**Prologue**

_**? pov:**_

Ever since I can remember, I've always been aware of my tribe's traditions. To an outsider, or anyone unfortunate not to have Celtic blood flowing through their veins, they view it as myth rather than custom. But for my people, it's stark reality and not the stuff of legends. Something which has proven true time and time again. Over generations. Something which we, the Woad, can no longer deny.

What am I talking about ? I'm talking about when the youth of our tribe come of age. When they discover what fate has in store for them. When they learn whether they're destined to be notoriously fearsome warriors, or something completely different ... Something far rarer. Something mystical. When magic is finally released and begins to flow through your body and you discover hidden strengths and traits. The ability to heal. To possess second sight and be a soothsayer. To be able to transform into the guise of another mortal or shift into the likeness and take on the characteristics of any living creature, as well as communicate with them. All those things can be seen as gifts. Something to be treasured. Revered.

Yet there's also a darker side to sorcery. One which involves hexes, curses, necromancy and blood. Unless it's treated with care and respect, it can also corrupt the soul. For all magic, unless used selflessly, comes at a price. And once evil takes root, the price becomes far too high to pay ...

Ten years have passed since I came of age. Since I changed from the naive and callow youth of sixteen summers and became the man I am today. Fate decreed I wasn't meant to be a protector of my people. To be a mighty warrior. And even though I'm not a fighter - I prefer to talk my way out of trouble and rely on my intelligence and gut instinct to stay alive - like all of my brethren, I'm more than capable of defending myself should the need arise. And whether I choose to rely on those traits, my blades or garrotte to do so, depends entirely on the situation I'm in ...

Yet my greatest means of defence is the one I rarely resort to. And considering my parentage, it's hardly surprizing that I possess it - it'd be more of a shock if I didn't ! I've vowed that it's something I'll never abuse, even though I'm more than proficient and intrigued by it. It's my greatest strength yet if ill-used, has the potential to be my weakness. My downfall. And this asset ? It's magic ...

So, who am I ?

I'm the only mage amongst my peers. Call me what you will. Warlock. Enchanter. Healer. Shifter. Thanks to my bloodline, there's no doubt I could be anything else.

And my name ?

Lucan. Bastard son of Nimue, a sorceress of immense skill and power and Merlin, the greatest wizard ever known. And having to live up to the expectations of being a direct descendant of theirs, means just one thing ... I'm buggered before I start !


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Mr Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures absolutely refuse to play ball and part with them. They're _still_ not mine, although not for the want of trying ... Lucan though, _definitely_ belongs to me.

**Warning: **_Strictly AU. Contains strong language, shape-shifting and slash. This will contain angst and hurt comfort, so you have been warned ..._

_**A/N: **_This opening chapter is a re-working of two chapters from another story I recently deleted, but sets the mood pretty well for this one. The rest ? A completely new fic, plus two non-movie knights, Lamorak and Ywain's !

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

_**Chapter I**_

The tall, powerful body flipped itself over upon the mattress until it lay on its side. A hand fumbled and skittered blindly across the surface, seeking what it needed. What it craved. When it failed to find what it sought, the hand froze abruptly causing the bed's sole occupant to suddenly wake.

Dagonet's silver eyes suddenly opened, instantly darting to the cold empty space beside him. The room was still shrouded in darkness, although he could barely make out the shapes of the oak furniture, thanks to the moonlight casting its rays faintly through the oak slats of the shuttered windows. Shifting, he sat up, causing the thick, sleek furs to slide down golden skin which covered a toned, muscular torso that was riddled with faint, silvery cicatrices.

It was happening again. Despite everything they'd talked of. All that had been said. An anguished sigh shuddered through the rugged frame and Dagonet's pale, striking orbs closed in despair as he covered his scarred face with both hands. Misery and pain emanated from him. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he silently wept as the barely visible cracks on his heart finally and irrevocably shattered.

"How could you do this to me ?" he whispered, his husky voice rasped rawly. "_How could you_ ? You promised me, you bastard … Fucking swore on your life that you'd never do this to me again … That you'd do anything not to hurt me …" Dagonet inhaled shakily and sadly shook his cropped head. "Well, no more you selfish, cheating, lying sod … You don't get to cuckold me again. As of now, it ends. For good ..."

Suddenly exhausted, he dashed an angry hand across his face to wipe away the tears and fell back upon the furs, only to stare blindly at the ceiling as sleep, like his errant lover, eluded him.

_**XXXXX**_

_**Earlier that night ...**_

Bors sighed heavily and ran a tired hand down his face as he watched his younger kinsman storm out of the tavern. He just couldn't understand how a simple meal and a tankard or two shared with his brethren could've turned into such a gods-damned mess in such a short space of time. And it was all thanks to that highly-strung, irritating Whelp who'd recklessly let his yap run away from him.

Scowling fiercely at the cause of the problem, Bors sighed once more as Galahad whined plaintively to his fellow Halani, Gawain.

"Well, how the bloody hell was I meant to know ? I thought Dag … Somehow, I thought he knew about Tristan and La- "

Bors instantly rose to his feet and furiously swept a tankard aside, causing it to crash upon the stone slabs beneath the table. "For once, just for once, in your bloody life couldn't you control yourself and keep that fucking trap of yours shut, you foolish Whelp ?" he snarled, skewering the dark-haired young man with a vicious glare. "Would it have killed you to think before you spoke ? Or was that too great a challenge for you to endure ?"

Gawain immediately rose to his shield-mate's defence, his blond mane brushing against his brown tunic. For once, his dancing, mischievous blue eyes were grave and his attractive, usually good-humoured countenance both angry and serious.

"Now Bors, you know as well as I do, that Galahad meant no harm … that he didn't mean to cause Dag any pain. It was the ale talking. Not malice or spite. Gal would nev- "

"No, you listen to me, Gawain. I don't fucking care what made your Whelp spew his thoughts where Dag could hear him. All I know is that my cousin's hurting beyond belief. That he's been regularly betrayed by the one person who's supposed to love and cherish him above all others. And you have the fucking nerve to sit there … and … and do nothing …" The fort's prize-pugilist suddenly struck the knotted oak surface of the table with a thick and heavy fist, barely able to contain his rage and disgust. "And d'ya know what's the worst thing about all this fucking shit ? The fact that you – _both_ _of you _– damn well knew this had been going on for bloody months. That fucking Tristan had been carrying on with that conniving Iazyges son-of-a-bitch all this time behind our Dag's back after promising him that he'd truly broken things off with that prick … and you did or said nothing to stop it … You both claim to be Dag's friend - that you're loyal to him - yet you still allowed this to continue and didn't warn him ? What sort of brothers are you, hmmm ...?"

The stocky, shaven-headed warrior's eyes narrowed in sheer fury; he could feel a burning itch in his palms, an ominous sign that he desperately yearned to lash out. To strike something - or someone - hard.

"It wasn't our place to say anything to Dag," Gawain replied warily, noting the way the older knight kept agitatedly clenching and unclenching those deadly fists of his. The last thing Gawain wanted was to be on the receiving end of those fists. He knew just how lethal they could be. If Bors had a grievance or was out for blood and meant to dole out punishment then … Well, let's just say he could be an absolute bastard who'd eagerly and happily inflict a world of pain on whoever was unfortunate enough to cross him. And a sure-fire way for anyone to earn that beating was to harm or cause pain to his kin. A slight to them, was a slight to him and a gross offence in the tenacious, loud-mouthed pugilist's eyes.

The Roxolani were a tribe renowned for deep, abiding loyalty and respect for their kin. Nothing was more important than the love they had for their closest relatives. And Bors was no different. He loved his family above all others. Would do anything to ensure their continued happiness and safety. And if those virtues were threatened or harmed in any way, the man could be downright unrelenting and vindictive when it came to avenging them.

"It was Tristan's pla- " Galahad began only to cower back in his seat as Bors leant forward, resting his palms upon the table. Bors' stance was menacing as he loomed above both men, eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side.

"You," he stared down the Whelp, "shut your bloody yap. You've done enough damage for one evening. And_ you_," Bors' attention swung to the stocky, fair-haired Sarmatian, "I expected better from you, Gawain. I trusted you to have Dag's back at all times. That you'd be a true brother to him …" He paused and shook his head incredulously. "I never once dreamt that you'd fail him this way … Aye, it was that damn fool Aorsi's place to be honest with Dag and the bastard should've come clean about what was going on … but he didn't. But one of you should've found the guts to say something to Dagonet, before things got so fucked up."

Gawain bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He knew Bors was right. They should've said something. Tried to reason with Tristan. Make him see sense that his fooling around – his bloody infatuation - with the dark knight would cause nothing but pain and trouble. Yet both he and Galahad had done naught. Had merely sat back in the vain hope that the Scout would see the error of his ways. But Tristan had not. He'd become even more enthralled - more captivated - by Arthur's right hand man, who'd only been too eager to take advantage of the situation. And the Scout, despite all of his promises to his loyal Healer, had been too weak to resist and couldn't stay away from temptation. Ever the opportunist, Lancelot, like the sun had blinded the Aorsi; made him fail to see that the best thing in this life was already his. The smooth-talking, handsome Iazyges had eclipsed the strong, silent, shy Roxolani and mesmerized Tristan … leaving poor Dagonet to pay the price.

"I … we … we regret that more than anything, Bors." Gawain admitted haltingly, his blue eyes full of regret. "We just hoped Tris would see the light … realize that Dagonet was the one. That's why we didn't meddle … did nothing …"

Galahad leaned forward, dark eyes guilt-ridden and contrite. "The last thing any of us wanted was this, I swear on my life, Bors … I'd do anything to change things, to turn back time and not see Dag suffer like this, but I- "

Bors' broad shoulders suddenly slumped in defeat and his voice was low and tired. "But you can't, y'daft bugger. Can't you see that ? It's too fucking late. Damage has been done … And right now, I can't be here yammering with you. You've not only let my cousin down, you've also let me down … I'm ashamed to call you my brethren ..."

He suddenly reached out and grabbed a full ewer off the table and began to walk away without a backward glance. All he could think of was finding his kinsman - before Dagonet got it into his head to do something stupid ...

_**XXXXX**_

It took a while, but Bors finally tracked down his errant cousin.

After traipsing across most of the fort, visiting the younger Roxolani's usual haunts of the valetudinarium and the bath-house and failing to find him, Bors finally went to the last place he suspected Dagonet would retreat to when seeking peace. The ramparts. Wearily, Bors strode up the stone stairway, huffing and puffing as he cursed his brethren for being such bloody idiots. Once he reached the top, he saw that he was alone. That Dagonet had indeed stolen away like an injured beast to lick his wounds in private. Bors groaned. He had no further ideas where to go and look for his kinsman. And that worried him. Deeply.

He suddenly felt tired. And old. _I'm too old to deal with all this shit ! _he muttered to himself. _I really don't need this ... _Then an image of Dagonet's distressed face crossed his mind; a recollection of the agony and despair which clouded the youngling's - as Bors was often wont to think of him - eyes; Dag's golden skin had taken on a pallid tint that contrasted vividly against the dark stubble that shadowed his firm jaw-line and the vicious scar that marred his ruggedly attractive countenance. Bors immediately reprimanded himself for being so selfish, so heartless, as he slowly crossed the ramparts to look over the walls.

He leant heavily against the stone walls and as dusk slowly fell into night, Bors began to muse over the latest comings and goings at the fort. Vanora and the brood were happy and well; the tavern continued to rake in plenty of coin to keep his tempestuous, flame-haired lover content. Arthur remained as clueless as ever in regard to what was meant to be going on. Bors gave an amused snort. _No change there then_, he thought with a satisfied smirk. And apart from all the shit going on between Bors' kinsman, said kinsman's unfaithful, death-dealing lover and that arrogant, no-good Iazyges fucker, Lancelot, life was goo- ... _had_ been good to them all. And hopefully, after tomorrow, things would only get better for both him and his cousin.

As he continued to stare absently at the surrounding countryside, a slight movement glimpsed out of the corner of his eye distracted the Roxolani. There, weaving its way unsteadily towards the knights' cemetery on the hill, was a tall, strapping, familiar figure. The cause of all of Bors' anxiety.

Dagonet.

Going by the younger man's state and by the large leather ale skin he carried, it was apparent that the Healer intended to get "rat-arsed" at the earliest opportunity. Groaning softly, a drained Bors hurried down the rampart steps, striding briskly out of the fort's gates in the same direction he'd seen his cousin take. And once the sentries on guard duty noticed the "don't-fucking-mess-with-me-unless-you-want-your-a rse-handed-to-you" expression on Bors' face, they hastily allowed him to pass through the fort's portal without question or challenge. As he got nearer to his quarry, he saw his kinsman sink down, lacking his usual grace, between two familiar mounds. The resting places of two of their brethren. Good men. Honourable men. Men of courage and wisdom. Two who, many moons ago, had been their mentors. Kinsmen that had been trusted implicitly for their guidance and loved like brothers ... and to this day, both he and Dagonet continued to grieve for and miss. Ector and Tor.

Head bowed, broad shoulders slumped dejectedly, Dagonet leant against Tor's grave for support. His eyes were tightly closed and he breathed deeply and raggedly in a vain attempt to calm himself. The sight of him tore at the elder Roxolani. Bors had never seen his kinsman look so ... distraught. Or so lonely. Strangely enough, the skin of ale lay unopened, against the large shield which shrouded Ector's grave. Dagonet appeared to be in a world of his own and if he'd heard Bors' approach or was aware of his presence, he gave no indication.

Bors frowned. What really gave him cause for concern and worried him greatly, apart from his cousin's listlessness, was the fact that such an intelligent, careful man as Dagonet was half-pissed with his guard down, exposed to any lurking enemies with no cover, alone and completely unarmed. That he had such little regard for his own welfare that he left himself vulnerable and defenceless ... easy pickings for any Woad. Bors sighed deeply and trudged over to where Dagonet sat.

"Dag ?"

There was no response. No reaction whatsoever.

"_DAGONET !_" Bors growled loudly, settling his stocky carcass as comfortably as he could next to his kinsman. "What the bloody buggering hell d'ya think you're playing at ? Sitting here alone, for fuck's sak- ?"

The younger Sarmatian raised his head and eyed the elder through glazed, lifeless eyes and finally acknowledged Bors' presence. He gave a low groan. Much as he dearly loved Bors, all he wanted, all he craved right now, was to be alone. To have some semblance peace. To be able to muse quietly and rearrange his chaotic thoughts ... and to try and make sense as to why two of his brethren - aside from his unfaithful lover - whom he'd trusted implicitly had also betrayed him. The fact that they'd known for quite a while of Tristan's continuous infidelity and kept silent about it, hurt. Deeply. That both Gawain and Galahad - whom he, Dagonet, loved as kin - had kept that vital piece of intelligence to themselves and couldn't be arsed to say something ... That they didn't care enough to warn him that he was being played and taken for a fool by his fickle Scout and the dark knight.

Dagonet ran an unsteady hand over the back of his stubbled scalp as he struggled to comprehend this latest blow he'd been dealt. All he now knew was that he'd been let down badly by people he called friends. By ones he'd considered family. Brothers even. And that was something he'd find very hard to forgive, let alone forget. He inhaled deeply, realizing unhappily, that the only one, apart from Bors, that he could _really_ trust was himself ... and no one else. Yet, as he continued to mull things over, he began to think that his own judgement was severely impaired ... for continually and misguidedly placing trust and keeping faith in people who let him down. Ones who were meant to care for him and watch his back at all times.

"What ?" Dagonet murmured distractedly. He idly plucked at the grass that covered where Tor lay, completely unaware of how gravely his apathy upset Bors.

"What's up with you, cousin ? This isn't like you ... to take off without warning ... To place yourself at risk. Without any weapons. Shit ! You don't even have a bloody dagger or hunting knife on you ... Can't you see you're like a sitting duck ? Any of those blue bastards could've snuck up and taken you out, for fuck's sake ! What were you fucking thinkin- ?"

"I ... I wasn'- "

"Bloody hell, you'd even dropped your guard, y'daft bugger ! Did you even hear me coming ?" Bors spat, his arms gesticulating wildly. His usually good-natured, rugged features crumpled with worry. "D'ya have any idea what Tor would think if he knew you'd done that ? What Ector would say ? They'd ... They'd be gutted that their favourite pupil had so little regard or care for himself ..."

Shame-faced, Dagonet closed his eyes once more. Bors was right. Every single word that he'd uttered was the truth. A truth Dagonet couldn't possibly deny. It was all to easy to imagine his mentors' reaction to his recent neglectful behaviour. He could almost feel Tor's silent, reproachful, pale gaze fixed sorrowfully upon him. Piercing him to his soul. Never mind hear Ector's soft-spoken, rich baritone conveying his dismayed disbelief. Telling Dagonet in no uncertain terms how disappointed he was in him. And the last thing Dagonet ever wanted was to let down and disappoint his mentors. He flushed with guilt, despising himself for what he'd done. In all the years since he'd been forced to serve the Romans, Dagonet had never been alone, without a weapon of some sort to defend himself and his only excuse for such a grave error of judgement, for such a lapse, was that his mind was focused elsewhere.

"Fuck ! For mercy's sake, Dag ..." Bors spluttered. He eyed Dagonet helplessly; he had no idea what to say or do and the whole situation made him feel clearly and uncomfortably out of his depth. It was at times like these, even though he knew Dagonet was suffering greatly and was in a great deal of pain, that he wished he could just ask Vanora to take over and sort everything out as she so effortlessly did. It wasn't that Bors was a coward by any means. He feared nothing. No one. It was simply the mere fact that, no matter how deeply he cared or how good his intentions were, when it came to dealing with anything sensitive, delicate or remotely emotional, he was as clueless as a new-born babe ... and he always ended up sounding off or putting his foot right in it, inevitably making the situation even worse.

Dagonet hesitantly met Bors' worried gaze and replied softly, "I heard you. Knew it was you - couldn't be anyone else traipsing noisily in that flat-footed way except you- "

"Don't be so fucking flippant, you stupid prat !" Bors retorted gruffly. "D'ya see me laughing ? Well, d'ya ?" He paused briefly and watched Dagonet reach for his ale skin before continuing. "What if ... what if it had been anyone else, huh ? A Woad party, gods forbid ? And don't you _dare_ fucking say they'd never venture so close to the fort ... 'cause they would. The buggers have been getting even cockier lately. I've even seen the whites of those blue bastards' eyes before now ... Dag, you could've been fucking kill- "

"Aye, I know. I could've been killed," Dagonet snarled. A sudden spark of fire, glacial but still fire, appeared in his cold, emotionless, silver eyes. The first sign of any feeling Bors had witnessed in him since all this shit had transpired between his kinsman and the Aorsi Scout. "I'd be dead. So fucking what ? 'S not as if I've got anyone to care enough to miss me if that happened. In way, I wish to gods it had ... then I wouldn't feel the way I do now. I wouldn't feel so bloody worthless ... so fucking humiliated and betrayed ... Wouldn't be in so much pain ..."

Aghast by such a claim, Bors could only watch the younger knight in silent disbelief. It only took one look at Dagonet to show that he'd meant every single word he'd said. That he was deadly serious and genuinely believed his own words. The anguish and pain he continued to suffer was all too clear to see in every fine line and curve of his strapping frame, as well as his ravaged, weary face.

"You can't seriously mean that ?" Bors spoke quietly. Dagonet nodded silently. His silver eyes had darkened ominously as if daring his kinsman to dispute what he'd said. And typically, Bors, who could never refuse such a challenge, did so. "That's a load of bollocks, Dag and y'know it !"

"Is it ? Is it really ?"

"You bloody well know it is ! Van'd miss you. So would the little 'uns. And y'know that I'd miss you more than anyone. You're _my _kinsman, Dag. _My_ cousin ... Probably my only living blood kin ... _You're_ my blood, y'daft, soft bugger ... _My blood _..." he ran a tired hand down the lower part of his face, all too aware of how badly shaken Dagonet's claim had left him. He rasped softly, his voice almost a whisper. "My blood. If anything happened to you, even though I have Van 'n' the little bastards ... it'd break me, Dag. You're so damn wrong when you say that no one would care enough to miss you. _I _bloody care ... I'd fucking miss you ..."

Dagonet gave an indifferent shrug and was about to uncork the ale skin only to have his cousin furiously slap it out of his hand. It fell with a dull thud upon the mound on which it'd previously rested. Dagonet glowered at Bors in annoyance, then sighed heavily and shook his head in denial.

"'Tis not the same, Bors, no matter how badly I wished it were." Inhaling deeply, the Healer slowly rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, then suddenly announced with a passion Bors had rarely heard from him, "Is it so fucking wrong of me to want what everyone else has ? To love someone of my own and be loved in return ? To have someone to come home to at night or after a rough day ? Someone to confide in ... to laugh with ? Is there something wrong with me ? What have I done in this life or in a past life that's so wrong that I end up losing every single person that I care about ? That I end up losing them to other people or have death steal them away from me ? Am I such a bad person for mercy's sake, that everyone ends up leaving me ?"

Bors immediately leant forward, closing the gap between them and stared intently at Dagonet. "You're mistaken, Dag. There's nothing wrong with you, I swear- "

"You _would_ say that ... you're family. And you're thinking like a Roxolani."

Bors merely grinned and shrugged his thick-set shoulders nonchalantly. "Oi ... it's the truth and I speak as I find." His reply had Dagonet responding with a groan and rolling his eyes. There was a long pause and the two tribesmen sat together in companionable silence. After a while, Dagonet sighed and his husky voice softly broke the peace.

"I ... I thought I had all that with Tristan ... Genuinely believed he loved me as I loved him. That we'd return home to Sarmatia and grow old together. I honestly believed he was the one. Just goes to show how fucking wrong I got that ... How messed up my bloody life's become." Dagonet absently rubbed his nape then whispered, "I envy you ..."

"Huh ? You. Envy. Me ?" Stunned, Bors could only gawp at him. "How in the goddess' name d'ya work that out ?"

Dagonet shifted slightly and rolled his shoulders to stop his muscles from cramping and sighed gently. He stared pensively towards the treeline of the forest on the horizon, before replying softly, "You have everything I ever wanted. Ever dreamt of having. Something I can only hope of gaining, yet deep down know I'll never possess ... You have someone to care for and love and those feelings are returned. Van loves you, Bors. Passionately. And without reservation. Hell ! I know you both bicker and scrap like cat and dog, but she respects and is unswervingly loyal to you. Van would die rather than see you hurt or suffer in any way and I wish ..." Dagonet swallowed hard and moistened his lower lip as he fought to regain his composure. "No matter ... Take no notice of me. I'm maudlin and this is the ale talking, not me ... Trust me, Bors, you don't know how lucky you are. Make the most of your time together, cherish and love your woman and never ever take her or what you both have for granted. Life's too short and unless you're careful, it can turn around and bite you on the arse all too easily ... and believe me, that's the last thing you want."

An amused snort escaped the older Roxolani's lips. "If there's one thing I've learnt, Dag, it's never to take my Van for granted. Ever ! Be more than my life's worth. I may be daft, but I ain't no fool ... But you're right about Van. I love that flame-haired, fiery bint. Would do anything she wanted. Fuck ! I'd kill for her if she asked it of me. She's my life ..." Bors suddenly glanced at his cousin, who had a melancholy air about him. " Besides, you could easily have what I do, if you put your mind to it."

Dagonet raised a bemused eyebrow and was seemingly at a loss at where Bors was heading with his final remark.

"I mean ..." Bors grinned wickedly, "if you took half as much interest in chasing skirt as you do in studying men's leathers then ..." To Dagonet's disbelief, Bors actually waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing his kinsman to groan and much to Bors' amusement, flush with embarrassment. "Well, 'tis the truth, cousin. If you spent more time thinking of pussy rather than cock, you'd have everything you wanted ... Plenty of young lasses here would be more than happy to take to your bed and let you claim them as your woman and you know it ... and it's not your coin they're interested in either. If you don't believe me, ask Van. She'll set you straight on the matter."

Flustered, Dagonet hastily scrambled to his feet and grabbed the ale skin and glared at the gobby knight who openly smirked at him. "Bors ..."

"Aye ?"

"Just ... Just shut the fuck up, will you ?" he growled in exasperation as he avoided his kinsman's knowing gaze. To Dag's astonishment, his garrulous, insensitive cousin had somehow, unwittingly, provided him with enough food for thought through his gentle teasing, even though he knew he'd never act upon it. Would never take a woman to his bed and claim her as his own. And Dag also knew Bors knew that his preference in bed companions would never change.

Silently, Dagonet began to stalk down the hill, shaking his head and muttering furiously, studiously ignoring a sniggering Bors who leisurely ambled after him back towards the fort. They parted company in front of the tavern, but not before Bors had pulled the younger Sarmatian into a fierce bear hug while gruffly imparting the following piece of advice.

"All I ask is that you don't act in haste, cousin. That you don't do anything rash. Sleep on it ... things'll probably look better in the morning, once you've rested. After all, tomorrow's going to be a big day for us both ..."

_**XXXXX**_

In the end, sleep wasn't forthcoming. Despite feeling tired, Dagonet was plagued by images of his lover, Tristan, betraying him with the dark knight. Images which varied constantly, yet one thing remained the same ... Tristan was unfaithful to him and that his promises to remain true were just platitudes. Pathetic, meaningless words. Ones which came to naught and only ended up rubbing salt into the wound.

Dagonet snorted, then wearily hauled his strapping, naked frame out of bed. Beams of sunlight began to stream weakly between window shutters' slats, casting light and shade into the neat, spartan room. With a heavy sigh, he stalked to the opposite end of the chamber. Yawning, he reached for a pitcher and began to pour some water into a wooden basin that sat on a small, rickety table and carefully began to wash. As he did so, Dagonet silently mulled over Bors' words from the night before and gave another incredulous snort.

He'd slept poorly and felt far from rested. And no matter what Bors had said, his situation hadn't improved. Things did _not_ "look better" in the morning. There'd been no change and he certainly didn't feel better and gravely doubted that he ever would. What he did know was that he wasn't about to act hastily or do anything rash. He knew exactly what he was about to do. For once in his life, he was going to put himself first and to hell with everyone else. Bors was right, today _was_ going to be a big day for them both ... It marked a new beginning. A new dawn. A fresh start. And a new life ...

Today, marked an end of an era. For today, unlike the rest of their brethren, both he and his cousin were to receive their release papers. Today was the day he'd yearned for. Had been longing for over the past fifteen years, ever since he'd been conscripted as a fourteen year old to serve the Romans. Today equalled freedom. And he could almost taste it. Could almost savour its sweetness. Could almost touch it as it was flirted within his grasp.

Today _would_ be the first day of the rest of his life ...


	3. Chapter2

**Disclaimer: **Mr Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures absolutely refuse to play ball and part with them. They're _still_ not mine, although not for the want of trying ... Lucan and Aeron do belong to me though.

**Warning: **_Strictly and completely AU. Contains strong language, shape-shifting and slash. This will contain angst and hurt comfort, so you have been warned ..._

**XXXXXXXXX**

**Chapter II**

_**Aeron's pov:**_

I was distracted by a slight movement in the corner of my eye. Curiosity piqued, my gaze fell upon and began to track a tall, wiry, familiar figure cloaked in black, as it stealthily slipped out of the cave. Sighing heavily, I rose to my feet and cautiously followed him

This hadn't been the first time Lucan had silently stolen away from his brethren. By my reckoning, it was his sixth attempt in so many nights and each time he'd effortlessly merged into the darkness like an inish. Only this time, I wasn't going to lose him. His strange behaviour was unsettling. Something was clearly bothering him and I was determined to find out what had him so on edge.

Now, I'm a skilled tracker. Probably one of our tribe's best and for a woman, that's no mean feat. It was a gift bestowed upon me by the gods and I embraced it wholeheartedly. And because of it, unlike many of my kinswomen, I'm allowed certain liberties. It's why my freedom isn't curbed. Why I may come and go as I please and not answer to any man for my actions. And maybe, just maybe, I'm given some leeway for my behaviour due to my father's influence. Whatever the reasons, they're of no consequence. My gift gives me freedom and due to my stealth and determination to never lose my quarry, I've become an asset to my tribe. One which is appreciated and respected. And that's something I treasure ... having my kinsfolk's respect. It means everything to me ... well, _almost_ everything.

'Cause in the end, "everything" to me means the health, safety and happiness of those I care about. The ones I love. Friends. Kin. And there's no one I adore more than the man I'm currently stalking. He's my world and is dearer to me and more beloved than my parents. He's been everything to me since I was born. Since I could crawl and follow him like a faithful shadow. I'd do anything for him without a second thought or a moment's hesitation. I'd kill for him. Lay down my life for him if need be. As he would for me. For Lucan's my best friend, my confidante, my sparring partner, my guardian and my protector. I love him greatly, yet he's not my lover. Nor will he ever be. That's not how I see him, how I've ever or will ever regard him. And he views me the same way. We have a bond that's far greater, more intense than the bond of lovers. For we are kin. Bonded by blood. And nothing - _no_ _one_ - will ever come between and tear us apart.

Lucan and I compliment each other. He's the darkness to my light. The night to my day. Yet we're nothing alike in nature. Although he's my elder by five summers, he's quieter, pensive ... more withdrawn. He prefers the solitude of his own company and the companionship of beasts, whereas I ... Well, I'm the complete opposite. Loud. Opinionated. Outspoken. Fiery and impetuous. I'm known for my blazing temper and impatience. Yet Lucan ... Lucan's calmer, more composed. It takes a lot to anger him, but when he's pissed off he's feared for his quick wit, sarcastic manner and glacial, cutting tongue. In fact, his tongue is reputed to be swifter and far sharper than any blade. Yet despite those traits, Lucan possesses hidden depths and intense passion, even if he does appear to be blissfully unaware of the potential strength of his emotions.

Like I said, Lucan's my elder and unlike most of our kinsmen, it's rumoured that he's never taken a lover nor has he ever been taken and that's a rare thing among our people. And it can't be said that he's chosen to be celibate due to a shortage of offers either. Men and women are equally drawn to him. Beguiled by his lithe, sinewy frame combined with cropped, dark copper hair, icily enigmatic, blue-green eyes and a lean, attractive, bearded countenance. Time and time again, any approach or proposition from every would-be suitor or wench - much to their bewilderment and my amusement - is firmly, yet politely, declined. Lucan's self-imposed celibacy, his lack of interest or desire to find a partner, has been the cause of plenty of speculation. The ones he's rejected have accused him of being cold, unfeeling, heartless and otherworldly ... spurned tongues spreading vicious, hateful rumours which are far from true that cast false light upon his character and gentle, loving nature.

I can still remember the first time I'd heard those godsawful lies and my father stating mildly that Lucan was merely biding his time ... waiting 'til he found the "right one." His soul mate. And once that happened, everything would change ... and everyone would see it. And to this day, my gut instinct tells me that my father could well be right. After all, he's a wise man, an observant one and I can't help feeling that my father knows more than he's letting on when it comes to Lucan and his future.

_**XXXXX**_

In the end, I found him at the edge of the forest, leaning against an old oak tree. Lucan's shrewd gaze seemed to be trained avidly upon the huge gates of the Roman fort situated at the bottom of the hill. It was all too clear that he was expecting something to happen ... or rather waiting for someone to appear.

Not wanting to startle him with my unexpected arrival and end up skewered by one of his lethal blades, I softly cleared my throat and stalked up to him. Shaking his head in disbelief, Lucan sighed heavily which made my lips curve into a smirk. All the while, his attention remained fixed upon the fort's gates. His lean frame was coiled with tension, giving me the distinct impression that he clearly wanted to be alone. My smirk immediately became an impish grin as I realized there was potential sport to be had.

"Aeron ... _what_ are you doing here ?" Lucan rasped, the tone of his voice irritated and full of suspicion. "Did you follow me ?"

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from chuckling softly. That was my Lucan ... always wary of my motives.

"More to the point, why are_ you _here ?" I countered, knowing full well that answering his question with a question would needle him.

"Aer- " He finally turned and I felt the weight of his glacial, blue-green gaze upon me. He was definitely pissed off and, because I knew him so well, was definitely trying to hide something from me.

"_Well ?_" I raised an enquiring eyebrow and much to his annoyance, stood beside him and leant against the same roughly knotted tree trunk that he rested upon. "If you didn't want to be followed, then you really shouldn't keep sneaking off when in company of a tracker. You should know by now that I take things like that as a challenge. That I would follow. And you may as well 'fess up that you've been doing it a lot lately- "

"_I haven't !_" he spluttered defensively, immediately proving my point and further confirming my suspicions that he had something to hide.

"Oh, _really ?_" I drawled, wrapping my arms around my waist and shifting to make myself more comfortable. "Well, _if_ that's the case and _you've_ nothing to hide, then you won't mind my being here, will you ? I mean, the way you're acting you'd think it was a crime that a girl wanted to spend time with her blood kin ... with her beloved big brother ..." I smiled sweetly and watched him through wide, innocent, well, maybe not-so-innocent eyes.

Lucan sighed once more and dragged a slender, beautifully shaped hand down his face. He suddenly looked tired, so very lost and anxious.

"Sister ..." he began, only to fall silent as words failed him.

"Brother ..." I replied softly, capturing and holding his wary, confused gaze. "What's wrong ? Tell me what plagues you. Maybe ... maybe I can help, if you'd let me ?"

"I ... I ..."

For the first time I became aware of how pale he'd become of late; how his limpid blue eyes glittered feverishly, highlighting the tints of emerald within them all the more and the way his long, slender fingers fidgetted and absently picked at the frayed edge of his dark brown tunic. Any further gentle teasing I'd planned was instantly replaced by affectionate concern and deep worry. Whatever was preying on his mind, I was determined to get to the bottom of it ... after all, I wasn't Merlin's daughter for nothing and like my father, persistence and resolution were traits that ran deep within me.

"Are you ill, Lucan ? What ails you ? I-I've never seen you like this." Hesitantly, I reached out and laid a hand on his brow. It felt cold. Clammy.

He shook his head slowly. "N-No, I don't think so," he replied quietly. Even his denial sounded uncertain. It lacked conviction. "I don't know what's wrong ... all I can say is that I'm not myself and ... and it confuses me. I find myself coming here every night. It's like I'm drawn here ... that I'm compelled to stay here and wait. And I don't know why."

"Luca- "

"It's like I have to be here, Aer. That I don't have a choice ... I can't fight it, y'know ? Something, or someone, wants or needs me here. There's this intense pull and I _can't _resist it. It's like I've no free will left ..."

Seeing how helpless and bewildered Lucan appeared, I silently wrapped my arms around him and held him close. For once, I was at a loss. I didn't know what to say ... how to help him. Me. The one person in our tribe who _always_ had something to say. A ready quip or some useless piece of advice. All I could do was hold my brother. Be there for him should he need me. Be willing to listen and support him.

"Know this, brother, I will _always_ be here for you. I'll _never_ forsake you. If you need me, I'll always be at your side, no matter what. _Never forget that_. Through thick 'n' thin, you'll always have me." I reassured him softly whilst gently petting his short, reddish-brown curls.

Lucan eventually raised his head and met my gaze steadily. A faint smile played upon his thin, sensual lips and his grip tightened briefly around my waist. "And I you, little siste- "

Suddenly, he gasped and I felt him tense. An odd, frozen look graced his lean face as he gazed over my shoulder into the distance. Slack-jawed, then swallowing hard, Lucan appeared mesmerized and seemed to lose all awareness of my presence.

Naturally, being a very caring and devoted sibling - or more accurately, the nosy bint that I am - I couldn't resist the temptation of turning my head and staring in the same direction, hoping to catch sight of what captured his attention so thoroughly.

"Lucan, how do you fare ? Say something, you daft sod, for mercy's sake ... you're starting to worry me."

My anxious query was met with silence. He didn't respond. Wide-eyed, with a faint blush staining his pale, high cheekbones, I saw him run the tip of his tongue lightly over his lower lip. He stood rigidly in my arms, his lithe body trembling slightly as he breathed unevenly. In all my years, I'd never seen him react like this. To be so flustered and so out of character. Lucan was transfixed. His blue-green eyes dilated and darkened with want and need. As I followed his unwavering gaze, mine finally fell upon what had him so enthralled ... so captivated. It was then I gave an astonished gasp.

Midway between the fort and the forest, on the hill itself lay a small graveyard. There, slumped between two burial mounds sat a tall, strappingly built man with his hair shorn close to his scalp, so short that it resembled dark stubble rather than hair. The fact that it was a man which had my brother so beguiled didn't bother me so much. What shocked me was the aura of darkness around the stranger. The sense of anguish, intense hurt and betrayal that emanated from him. And the impression I got was that his suffering had begun fairly recently. From what I could tell, going by the the brown leather overshirt covering very broad shoulders and the leathers which clung lovingly to long, toned legs, this man was in all likelihood, a warrior. One in his prime and in excellent health.

I felt Lucan shift uneasily and glanced hurriedly at him. He silently watched the solitary figure and moistened his lower lip once more. The only way I could describe the look in his eyes was that of raw hunger and desperate longing. The intensity of his feelings was all-consuming and the next thing I knew, he roughly disentangled himself from my embrace and stepped forward. The expression on his face was that of grim determination. A look I've known for years and was all too familiar with. I'd seen it often enough. It was the resolute look of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and meant to get it ... no matter what.

"_Mine_," he growled, the tone of his husky voice held a note of finality and unexpectedly, a possessiveness I'd never heard before. Then suddenly, he sprang forward and I quickly realized his intentions.

"_Lucan, no ! _Get back here now, you bloody idiot !" I hissed at him, worried that he'd get himself in trouble. That he'd be too close to the fort. Too close to our enemies. The Romans. But it was to no avail. He paid me no heed and as he began to lope towards the small cemetery, his lean form began to shift. It grew smaller. Moved swiftly. Silently. Confidently. One moment, I was watching my beloved brother racing towards a shitload of potential strife, the next I saw a sleek, russet-pelted fox agilely closing the gap to the anguished, leather-clad warrior.

Groaning in dismay, all I could do was watch helplessly as my _normally_ sensible elder sibling impetuously embrace his fate. Shaking my head, I muttered, "Gods, Lucan ... you stupid, fucking arse. You've really gone and bollocksed things up this time. Da' will have a fit."

And Lucan had done just that. He'd screwed up. Badly. How come ? Our brethren knew the significance of that small hillside graveyard. Who lay beneath those mounds and who came there to grieve and pay their respects. It was the sacred resting place of our most formidable enemy. Warriors who we genuinely feared more than the Roman scum who'd raped and pillaged our lands for countless years. Men of boundless courage, strength and power. Men who were both fearless and fearsome in battle. Ones who reduced my Celtic brothers to sheer bloody terror. And those men ? They were the Sarmatian Knights.

My brother had done exactly what our father, Merlin, predicted. He'd bided his time. Found the "right one." And aye, da' was right, everything _would_ change. Whether that change would be for better or worse, it didn't matter as it was now in the lap of the gods. For Lucan had done the unthinkable. Thanks to the meddling hands of Fate, he'd finally found his soul mate in the unlikely form of one of our most feared adversaries ... a Sarmatian.

Gods help us ...


	4. Chapter3

**Disclaimer: **Never were mine. _Still_ not mine ... and knowing my luck, never will be mine – gods-dammit !

**Warning: **Strictly AU & _not _related to the rest of my KA fics. Contains strong language - yup, the boys, gods love 'em, are still potty mouthed. No change there then ...

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter III**

Dagonet strode briskly into the Round Table chamber and to his dismay, found he was the last to arrive. He was late, gods-fucking-damnit ... and he was never late. And it was all that bloody Aorsi bastard's fault ...

Gods-damn fucking Tristan ! The bane of his life.

The tall Roxolani's lean, powerful frame tensed and his strong jaw clenched imperceptibly as he neared the table oblivious to the presence of a sleek, black tomcat that slunk past him. A minute tic began to pulse in his right cheek when he noted the cause of all his pain and troubles calmly seated in his usual spot two chairs down from Bors.

A fresh wave of anger swept over Dagonet as his former lover watched him traverse the room, making no attempt whatsoever to conceal the blatant hunger and possessiveness in that calm, determined, golden gaze as he clearly expected the Healer to sit in his customary seat between him and his kinsman, Bors. The sheer gall and arrogance of the man only added further fuel to the quiet anger simmering beneath Dagonet's impassive surface. Dagonet came to an abrupt halt, then spying a vacant chair between his cousin and Ywain, the Siraci healer who'd been transferred from Londinium to take over his duties, quietly took it with a calmness he most definitely didn't feel. And to his mortification, that simple gesture of rebellion, the cool and most emphatic snub he dealt the Scout only made matters far worse in Dag's eyes. For it did something he'd hoped to avoid at all costs ... it drew the undivided attention of most of his brethren. And for a shy, quiet loner who preferred keeping to himself, that was the worst thing that could ever happen ...

Groaning inwardly, Dagonet did the only thing he could think of. Bracing himself, he ignored the curious looks directed at him, turned to his left and struck up a conversation with Ywain. A discussion the all too astute and sympathetic Ywain was only too willing to participate in once he'd sensed his friend's increasing discomfort. All the while, Dagonet was conscious of eyes boring into him. Of Bors' quiet concern; the bewildered stares which came from Gawain and Galahad; the way Lamorak's- the Iazyges enforcer who'd quickly become Bors' partner-in-mischief - cool, steely, grey gaze briefly flickered over him before turning his attention to his goblet and the piercing disbelief, anger and shock emanating from the Scout. Each and every penetrating stare made Dagonet feel so vulnerable ... so exposed.

And bloody Tristan was the one to blame for it all.

_**FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT EVENING:**_

Ever since he'd discovered Tristan's infidelity and the knowledge that most of his brethren - the people he'd trusted the most - had known about it, Dagonet changed overnight. He became a virtual recluse. Keeping strictly to himself, avoiding everyone except his immediate family.

Dagonet became quieter, more reserved, wary and extremely guarded and suspicious of all around him. Hurt and shock turned to disbelief. Disbelief swiftly became denial. Denial was followed by a burning anger towards his fickle lover, before developing into acute self-loathing for being so gullible and allowing others to treat him like a fool. It soon became clear that he had issues with trust and preferred his own company, much to Bors' dismay. Dagonet no longer laughed. Rarely smiled and when he did, the smile never reached his eyes. And those eyes ? They still retained intelligence but any trace of warmth, compassion and life were long gone. All that remained in those pale silver orbs was a glacial coldness. A permanently dead look, devoid of all emotion.

Every once in a while, those eyes would darken and burn with anger and hatred. Feelings caused by one person alone. The instigator of all of his pain and suffering. The one person he'd loved more than anything. Trusted above all others. The one who'd professed to love him ... him alone ... And the one who'd constantly lied to and deceived him. Betrayed and humiliated him. And ended up crushing his spirit, destroying his soul ... and breaking his heart.

Tristan.

Over the course of time, Dagonet's love for the Scout turned to bitterness that cloaked a deep hatred. Against his better judgement, he'd given the handsome Aorsi everything he could give. His heart, body and soul and in return he'd got nothing but deceit, lies and heartbreak. Pain that was so grievous that he'd vowed never to put himself through anything like it again. Had no intention of baring his soul and being vulnerable ever again.

But the Scout had no intention of accepting Dagonet's refusal to be with him. That the Healer was so unwilling to remain with him as he continued to share the dark knight's bed. Tristan had obstinately refused to believe that Dagonet was serious about breaking up with him ... Was in complete denial of the fact. He began to pursue Dagonet in earnest. Supremely confident that the gentle Healer would forgive and take him back. That Dagonet wouldn't be able to function without him.

So now, much to the giant Roxolani's displeasure he found himself the sole object of the Scout's attention. Wherever he went, the Aorsi would be there. Following him like a bloody shadow. Everyone at the damn fort knew how skilled Tristan was as a tracker. How dogged the bastard could be. That he was as relentless as a boarhound on its quarry's trail. And Dagonet was in the unenviable position of being prey to the Scout's predator.

After patrol with Bors, Lamorak and Ywain, Dagonet had partaken in a swift meal then had gone to ground in his quarters, hoping to clean up and retire for the evening. It had been a vain hope. For as soon as he'd stripped off his grimy green tunic and carefully washed, someone pounded abruptly on his door. The impatient rapping was followed by Rak's voice gruffly informing him that Arthur had called yet another meeting at the Round Table chamber. Once he'd heard the powerful Iazyges' heavy, purposeful tread descend the wooden staircase from the knights' barracks, Dagonet had sworn viciously. Cursing their half-Roman commander every name under the sun, he grabbed a clean, rust coloured tunic and pulled it over his head before shrugging into his brown, leather over-shirt.

Dagonet's mood didn't improve once he opened the door and strode out onto the landing either; the first thing he laid eyes upon was the lithe, slender figure of the Scout leisurely unfurling itself from against the wall opposite his chamber. The scarred knight didn't even bother to acknowledge the handsome death-dealer's presence. Loping down the stairs, out of the knights' quarters, Dagonet strode briskly through the fort to the destination his C.O. had demanded he attend, his rugged countenance schooled into an expression of grim determination as he ignored the additional shadow which followed him ...

Tristan had made several persistent attempts to draw his attention. Did everything he could to strike up a conversation with Dagonet. Had even deliberately stood in his path and tried to stop the Roxolani in his tracks by placing a hand upon his right bicep. Dagonet had immediately and violently shrugged the hand away and continued to walk, resolutely playing deaf to the younger Sarmatian's pleas as he did so. By the time they'd reached the Round Table chamber's doors, Dagonet's nerves were frayed and his patience sorely tried and as Dagonet had been about to enter the room, the Aorsi had given him a truly infuriating smirk and slipped past him into the room.

And to add insult to injury, the arrogant bastard had deliberately brushed against the Healer's powerful frame and mumured confidently, "Face up to it Dag, you'll never be able to keep this up ... Admit it, you miss me ... You still want and need me. So, you may as well admit defeat and take me back. You'll only end up hurting even more if you don't ... "

Whether Dagonet had intended to dignify that smug statement with a reply or not, became a moot point as Tristan had coolly sauntered into the chamber and taken his usual seat. Insolent golden eyes had then possessively skimmed the strapping Healer's muscular body, causing Dagonet to tense with fury. Outwardly, to his brethren, Dagonet had appeared his usual calm, impassive self. Yet inwardly ? Inwardly, he'd been a mass of seething emotions, consumed by an overwhelming need for revenge as well as a desperate longing to escape from everyone ...

_**END OF FLASHBACK**_

After a while, Dagonet became aware of another pair of eyes fixed upon him. Slowly, he turned away from Ywain and realized that this stare, although equally intent as the others, felt different. Somehow, it wasn't as intrusive ... it was gentler and oddly enough, it soothed and calmed him. Sprawled gracefully in one of the alcoves that held a marble bust of a Roman deity, was a large, midnight hued cat. Its inscrutable eyes fixed calmly upon Dagonet, instinctively sensing his discomfort. Full of uncertainty, Dagonet immediately began to rub his nape and abruptly broke eye contact. Then, still feeling the cat's mild, steady gaze upon him, he slowly looked up.

Pale, confused, turbulent silver orbs immediately collided with clear emerald. A shade of green so pure and guileless and, to Dagonet's astonishment, strikingly beautiful. Deep, calm, clear pools that sparkled with latent mischief eyed him steadily. The beast's eerily intelligent gaze was full of reassurance and quiet strength. As Dagonet found himself drowning in those eyes, he could've sworn that he detected something else flickering in their depths. Not just friendship or mild affection ... it was different. More intense and almost, dare he think it, human. Puzzled, he mulled over what he thought he'd seen and as he did so, was suddenly struck by the realization that the indescribable emotion in those feline eyes was need. It was as if the animal had staked a claim of ownership on him. Him. Dagonet.

Dagonet's breath suddenly hitched and his eyes gradually widened in disbelief. He must have imagined it. After all, lack of sleep could have a strange effect on a man. Could make him believe all sorts of things. Make the improbable seem probable and the impossible, all too possible ... Dagonet snorted and slowly shook his head in disbelief. It was a flight of fancy. Nothing more, nothing less. A momentary lapse of concentration which had briefly, completely and utterly thrown him. The strange thing was that he hadn't found it objectionable. The beast's unblinking scrutiny didn't disturb or upset him. Rather it comforted him ... made him feel as if he were being bathed by sunlight, leaving him feeling warm and strangely happy. Something he hadn't experienced for quite a while. Somehow, a dumb creature had succeeded in making Dagonet feel something he never dared believe possible. It succeeded in making him briefly forget his pain and that was no mean feat ...

Flustered, Dagonet reluctantly broke eye contact and tried desperately to focus on the meeting. But it was too late. The damage had already been done and he was unable to heed anything other than the lean, sinewy furball that lay in the shadowed alcove opposite him. Whatever the reason that Arthur had summoned the knights to the Round Table for made no impression whatsoever on the scarred Roxolani, as nothing that was said registered with him. Arthur's voice droned monotonously, reminding him of a horsefly buzzing annoyingly in the background. Outwardly, Dagonet gave the impression of his usual self. That he was paying close attention to his C.O. and everything uttered was taken in and stored for future reference. The reality of the situation was so much different. Should any of his brethren question him after the meeting over what had been discussed, then ... then Dagonet would've been at a complete loss. He had no recollection at all of what was on Arthur's agenda, what with his mind and attention being strictly elsewhere.

He sighed heavily and wished desperately for the meeting to end so that he could bolt for the sanctuary of his quarters. Matters weren't helped by the Scout's constant, bemused and slightly put out scrutiny. And the possessive gleam in those intelligent honey-coloured orbs made the Healer shift uneasily in his chair. He knew as soon as the meeting was over, that Tristan would make a point to follow him ... would try to continue to win back his attention and affections. Something that he, Dagonet, clearly no longer wanted or intended to let happen again.

Shifting slightly, Dagonet rolled his broad shoulders and tried to make himself more comfortable, despite being acutely aware of being watched from the opposite side of the table. For some unknown reason, he felt compelled to look up ... To meet those calm, mysterious green orbs head on. Eyes which Dagonet felt curiously and inexplicably drawn to. Yet when he finally found the nerve to do so, the contrary beast seemed to have lost interest in him and was far more concerned with the need to clean its sleek pelt, before curling up into a ball and falling asleep. The cat's indifference caused Dagonet to feel that he'd imagined its odd behaviour and much to his disbelief and bewilderment, left him feeling strangely bereft ...

_**XXXXX**_

Eventually the meeting, much to everyone's - other than the C.O.'s and his fawning deputy's - relief, drew to a close. One by one, the Sarmatians left the table and filtered out of the chamber. It had been the moment that Dagonet had been dreading, yet absolutely longing for ... Dread came with the certain knowledge that as soon as he took his leave, Tristan would be hot on his heels. Something he knew that was unavoidable. But the yearning he felt for sanctuary, to be able to return to his quarters for some much needed peace and quiet, over-rode that anxiety.

Silently ignoring the remaining members of the brethren, Dagonet pushed his chair abruptly away from the table. It made a loud, screeching noise against the polished marble floor, instantly rousing the drowsing cat which gracefully leapt down from its vantage point and swiftly darted out of the room. Yet Dagonet didn't care. The quicker he left and made his escape from the Scout ... the better he'd feel. It was as simple as that. Taking a deep breath, the Roxolani made a break for it. And much to his chagrin, he noted that the dark-haired Aorsi had remained true to form and was indeed following him. Long, powerful legs soon made short work of the distance between the chamber and the knights' quarters.

He'd barely got his foot within the door of the Sarmatian barracks, when the Aorsi spoke softly. Dagonet froze.

"Dag ... We need to talk. There's something I have to tell yo- "

The Healer gave a disdainful snort and stalked briskly up the stairs, unaware of a small, dark shadow streaking past him towards the landing. "Really ? _We. _Need. To. Talk ? Are you deaf or just plain stupid ? What makes you think that _I've_ any interest in anything you say or do, hmmm ? And why in goddess' name would I _ever_ fucking want to listen to you ? Tell me ... I'd _really_ love to hear how you come to that particular conclusion ... That I, poor deluded, cuckolded fool that I am, would be so desperate for _your_ time and company ?" There was no mistaking the hostile venom in his rich baritone voice, nor the growing fury that he felt.

Tristan cautiously moved closer and stood before him. For once, it appeared that his need to win back his former lover at all costs had blinded him from correctly assessing Dagonet's feelings toward him. All he could see was his quarry in front of him and that this time he wouldn't allow him to flee. That Dagonet's resistance would be worn down ... that Dag would yield to him. And take him back.

"No. Listen to me, man_. You need me_ ..." Tristan stated bluntly, his golden eyes fixed upon the Roxolani's glacial silver. "Whatever you say ... You're lying to yourself if you claim that you don't want me. That you don't love me. I, I still want and love you- "

Dagonet didn't bother to conceal his contempt. He backed away out of the Scout's reach, his pale eyes narrowed with suspicion as his scarred face contorted into a sneer.

"Bollocks ! You've a fucking nerve telling me that, Tristan ... A gods-damned fucking nerve ! You ... You _never_ loved me. If you had, you'd never have betrayed, hurt and humiliated me the way you did. And you'd never have got involved with that lying, conniving Iazyges bastard in the first place ... Put his feelings and needs ahead of mine ..." Dagonet spat furiously. "And you dare ... you fucking dare tell me that you_ still _love me after all that. Well, I don't fucking believe you."

"Dag ... Wolf- "

"_No !_ You don't get to call me that any more. Not after what you did. I'm no longer _your_ "Wolf." I _don't_ _wish_ to be your "Wolf." Not any more, _Scout_ ..." the Roxolani paused to study the man before him and felt nothing towards him, except loathing. "There was a time I would've given my eye teeth to hear you say that, Tristan. To hear you say that you wanted and loved me. Not any more ... Those are just words. Meaningless words. Mere platitudes. Any fool can say them and I'm no longer the daft sod who'll swallow everything he sees and hears. Least of all any of the lies you choose to spew at me."

"I didn't li- "

The Healer snorted once more. "Of course you didn't ! I mean, you _never_ lied to me, did you, Tristan ? No, you just kept quiet and led me to believe that I was the only one you cared for. The only one who mattered and the only one whose bed you shared ... whose body you made love to ... Oh, no, you may not have voiced those lies, but you still lied to me by omission and I'll never be able to forgive you for that." Seeing the Aorsi about to interrupt him and while he still possessed the strength and conviction to clearly state how he felt, Dagonet raised his right hand in a gesture of silence. "No, it's time you listened to me. Heard what I have to say ... what _I_ want. The moment you forsook my bed for _his_, when you claimed you … you were _in love with him_ ..." Dagonet agitatedly rubbed his nape and inhaled deeply. "The moment you did all that, any feelings I had for you ... Love, want, need and above all, trust died. You mean nothing to me ..."

Dagonet's words seemed to have an effect upon the stubborn Aorsi. Pale-faced, he shook his head in denial. "No ! N-No. You can't mean that. Not you, Dag. You'd never be so cruel ... So vindictive and malicious ..."

"_No ? _" The Healer raised an eyebrow. "Are you _sure_ about that ? I mean, _really_ _sure_ ? 'Cause I'm not the naive, gullible, trusting fool I once was ... and I have you to thank for that. To thank for finally opening my eyes and making me see what this fucking world's truly like ... So, thank you for fucking up my life. For being the one responsible for turning me into the cold, unfeeling, suspicious bastard that I am today ..."

The Scout's eyes narrowed in anger. "You accuse _me_ of that ? That what I did was so bad ?"

Sighing, the Roxolani gave an indifferent shrug and was about to walk away when he felt Tristan's slim fingers encircle and firmly grasp his right wrist. Caught off-guard by the sudden action, Dagonet was tugged closer to the slighter man and the grip around his wrist tightened.

"Yes, I accuse you of it ... I blame _you_ for- "

"Did you ever stop to think that I might not be the only one at fault here ?" Tristan rasped softly, his gaze fixed upon the tall Healer in growing anger. "That I'm not the only one to blame ...? That there probably was a reason why I strayed ? Why I fell in love wi- "

Dagonet's tense, powerful frame trembled with rage. This time, Tristan had gone way too far. Had crossed the line ... and for that Dagonet would never forgive him. With one sudden movement, he twisted his arm and wrenched it free of the Aorsi's hold.

"You dare ... you bloody dare lay the blame on me, you deceitful Aorsi bastard ? That it's _my_ fault that _you_ were incapable of keeping _your_ leathers laced around that pox-ridden git ? _Well ? _"

It was Tristan's turn to shrug ... as if daring Dagonet to believe what he'd just uttered. A sadistic gleam flickered in the depths of his golden orbs. The look in those eyes infuriated the Healer more than anything. In fact, Dagonet was so preoccupied by it ... so caught up in his fury that he failed to hear several pairs of footsteps swiftly coming up the stairs behind them.

"Got nothing to say ? Cat got your tongue, Scout ?" Dagonet snarled viciously. "Not that I give a damn either way what you do. Just stay the bloody fuck away from me from now on. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me. _Dead ! _"

Aghast, Tristan stumbled back. Wide-eyed at the vehemence in Dagonet's voice and the unconcealed hatred on the mild-mannered Roxolani's scarred countenance. Dagonet would've said a great deal more, now that the floodgates had opened ... would have vented his spleen with the torrent of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. But whatever he'd meant to say remained frozen on his lips when he heard a soft, husky voice break the silence.

"Got a moment, Dag ? You said you'd let me have that herbal remedies book before I turned in ..."

Distracted, Dagonet spun around to face the newcomer. His silver eyes puzzled by this unexpected development. There at the top of the staircase, standing in front of Bors' brawling protege, Lamorak, was Ywain. Shrewd brown eyes full of concern and genuine compassion. And as Dagonet stared into those dark orbs, he realized that his fellow Healer was giving him an "out." A means of walking away from Tristan with some of his dignity intact. Biting his lip, he came to a sudden decision. One he hoped that he wouldn't live to regret ...

Stepping back, he opened his chamber door and replied huskily, "Aye, Ywain ... so I did ..." Then canting his head in the direction of his quarters, he moved aside to allow the witty Siraci and an unseen, furry companion access into his chamber, pointedly ignoring the angry frustration that marred the Scout's noble countenance as he did so ...


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Mr Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures absolutely refuse to play ball and part with them. They're _still _not mine, although not for the want of trying ... Lucan and Aeron do belong to me though.

**Warning: **_Strictly and completely AU and _not_ related to the rest of my KA fics. Contains strong language, shape-shifting and slash. This will contain angst and hurt/comfort, so you have been warned ..._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter IV**

Once Ywain had entered the Healer's quarters, Dagonet followed him into the dimly lit room. Paying no heed to the silently fuming Scout, he quietly shut and bolted the heavy wooden door and rested his forehead against the knotted timber. This latest, vicious argument with Tristan had taken its toll upon him. Exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped and a tremor racked his huge, powerful frame. Closing his eyes, Dagonet was all too aware of the strength and what little confidence he possessed draining away from him all too quickly ... leaving him weary, vulnerable, defenceless and despondent.

As he slowly turned around, he began to feel lightheaded. A large hand fumbled across the surface of the door before grabbing onto the frame as if it were a lifeline. Dagonet sagged against the hard oak and took a couple of deep breaths as he tried to regain his composure and equilibrium.

"Dag ?"

The sound of his name being rasped softly suddenly reminded him that he was not alone. Dagonet's eyes slowly flickered open to find Ywain cautiously approaching him, his brow furrowed and those astute, gentle, dark eyes full of sympathy.

"Are you all right ?" There was simply no denying the concern in his fellow Healer's voice. It was palpable. Dagonet gave a terse nod, a response which the Siraci did not find the least bit credible. "You sure, Dag ?"

Dagonet eyed Ywain impatiently through narrowed silver eyes and snapped wearily, "I'm fine."

"Bu- "

"I _said_ I'm fine ... All I want is to forget about it ... and move on. So, just drop it, aye ?" Dagonet paused, then softly added, "Please ... ?"

Ywain nodded slowly. He knew there was no point forcing the issue with the Roxolani right now; it would only make the man feel more pressured and even more likely to withdraw into himself. To barricade himself behind those thick defensive walls of his once more and effectively ruin all the hard work he, Ywain, had done in breaking through those barriers over the past few months since his transfer from Londinium. No, Ywain resolved, this time he'd allow Dagonet to believe that the matter had been dropped, that he'd seemingly acquiesced to Dag's plea, when in reality he intended to store this development in the deepest recesses of his mind for future reference.

Taking an unsteady breath, Dagonet pushed himself from the door and sluggishly approached the slight, winsome herbalist. "Now, take the weight off your feet while I try 'n' find that book you wante- "

The faint smirk that graced the smaller man's attractive countenance took the Healer aback. Ywain merely shrugged and confessed huskily, "I lied. There's no book ... there _never_ was one ..."

"Bu- "

The smirk turned into a sheepish grin and Ywain bowed his head briefly, then uneasily rubbed his scalp, spiking his short, brown hair further, before looking up to meet Dagonet's confused silver orbs.

"You're a friend, Dag ... my brother. I did what I had to do to get you out of a tight spot," he gave another modest shrug. "Same as you'd do for me had our roles been reversed. If Rak hadn't insisted on us returning early to our quarters, things could've turned very ugly between you and the Scout and ... and I think I'm a good enough judge of character to know that if anything bad had happened, you'd never be able to live with yourself once you'd calmed down. Am I right ?"

Dagonet could only nod in astonishment. It appeared the Siraci knew and understood him better than he thought. That the newcomer who'd been brought in to take over his role as Healer was far more intuitive than given credit for and had swiftly and accurately assessed the situation he'd witnessed on the landing between himself and Tristan. No wonder Arthur had fought so hard for the man's transfer and viewed him as a valuable and valued addition to the Sarmatian ranks.

"Aye ... you speak the truth. I would've been plagued mercilessly by it. It would have goaded me into lunacy if you had not ... I owe you my thanks, brother. For keeping me sane and not letting me lose control." He felt the smaller man's hand rest upon his shoulder, its long, skilful fingers flexing and giving a reassuring squeeze.

" 'Twas nothing, Dag. No more than you would've done for me in similar circumstances and y'know it," Ywain replied matter-of-factly before removing his hand from the scarred knight's muscular shoulder. The withdrawal of that single gesture of sympathy and reassurance left the larger Sarmatian feeling oddly bereft. "Listen, Dag, I've never been one to pry and I don't plan on starting now. Whatever shit that went down between you 'n' the Scout earlier, well ... it's none of my business, but ... ach, fuck it ! Look, I won't poke my nose in where it's not wanted, I respect you too much to do that ... just know if ever you need to vent or want a bolthole, then my door's always open, aye ? No pressure, right ? Take it or leave it."

Momentarily staggered by the offer, Dagonet nodded slowly. He eyed the smaller physician cautiously, his cool gaze conflicted as he struggled to find a way to respond. He knew the offer had been genuine, that the Siraci's intentions were sincere and kindly meant, yet something held him back ... preventing him from leaping recklessly into accepting it immediately. And the reason for that was that he'd been burnt before. Had been let down by the ones he'd regarded as brethren. By folk he'd trusted. And Dagonet couldn't help but recognize the truth in the old adage "once bitten, twice shy" and that it related to both himself and his circumstances only too well ...

Seeing the Roxolani deep in thought, a sad, knowing smile ghosted fleetingly across Ywain's lean countenance. He slowly shook his head then shrugged his slim shoulders before heading quietly towards the door.

"No, wait !" The unexpected sound of the troubled Roxolani's voice cut through the silence like a blade, causing Ywain to pause in his tracks. He turned around slowly and studied Dagonet in puzzled silence.

"Will you heed some advice, brother ? From one who knows ?" Dagonet asked gruffly. The intensity in his pale, sorrowful orbs held the Siraci captive. He could only nod in response. "Whatever you do, _never_ fall in love. Love's a fickle, cruel mistress ... One who'll break and torment you without a single thought or regret. I'd hate to see you suffer and go through the same thing as I have. The pain ruins your life, Ywain. Destroys you. Turns you into someone you loathe and not want to be. Makes you hard, unfeeling and bitter ... causes you to lose all faith and trust in others. And that's something I don't want to see happen to you. You're one of the few good things left in this gods-forsaken place ... do all you can to ensure you always stay that way."

As the tall Roxolani absently rubbed his nape, the other Healer couldn't fail to see how haggard and drawn Dagonet looked. He was all too aware of how the gentle giant's movements lacked their usual grace; the way the broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion; the dark shadows which circled weary, striking silver orbs. Ywain remained silent as he struggled to comprehend his friend's words. The pain, anger, bitterness and humiliation Dagonet continued to feel still lingered even after all this time. Feelings caused by that damn, no-good Aorsi bastard ... and feelings Ywain wished more than anything would simply disappear as they continued to affect his friend's wellbeing and prevented him from healing.

"I mean it, Ywain. Stay true to yourself. Do everything - _anything_ - to make sure you don't end up like me. A cold, bitter, heartless fool. And ... and if you do fall ... be damn sure that the one you love is truly worthy of you and your heart. Don't give it away too freely or easily. Make them work for it ... Make sure that they deserve you and never settle for anything less than you desire or want ..."

Shocked at the intensity of Dagonet's demand, Ywain moistened his dry lips and remained mute, his mind still reeling from his friend's words. Suddenly, the tall warrior sighed. His head bowed and he closed his eyes, before rubbing them slowly with the callused pads of his thumb and forefinger as he pondered his next move.

"Ywain ?"

"Aye ?" Curiosity piqued, the lean Sarmatian paused to eye the weary Roxolani intently. The strapping giant appeared conflicted. To be fighting his inner demons as he struggled to find the words to convey what he wanted to say ... what he felt.

And Dagonet, if he were being honest, was struggling. He was bone-weary, full of rage, distrust and sorrow still. And worst of all, despite being constantly surrounded by others, by his kin and brethren, so desperately lonely. A loneliness which he realized, unless he saw fit to prevent it, would cripple and ultimately destroy him. He hesitantly met Ywain's puzzled gaze and took a deep breath and sighed gently. Stood before him was a fellow knight. A brother who also healed. A man of honour. One who wisely kept his own counsel, never judged or condemned others without giving them a fair hearing ... and one determined to prove how reliable, steadfast a friend he could be, if given a chance. And if truth be told, a friend was something Dagonet truly needed. Someone in whose company he could lose himself for a while and forget about his problems and his past.

"Don't go, Yws, stay a while. I could use the company ... in fact, I'd appreciate it ..." Dagonet rasped. "I've been closing myself off and shutting everyone out. Kith and kin alike and ... and I see now that ... that it's a bad thing. That I'm harming not only myself with my solitude but those I care for and who care about me as well." Dagonet gestured vaguely towards the chairs by the fireplace and a small wooden table on which sat a clay pitcher and a couple of goblets. "Sit. Get warm and pour yourself some ale while I search for those texts you claim you weren't seeking in the first place ..."

Ywain's thin lips curved into a faint smile as he saw a fleeting glint of amusement briefly flicker in Dagonet's pale eyes. Shaking his head in bemusement, Ywain sauntered towards the hearth and crouched down in front of the fire to warm his hands. After a while, he dragged his gaze away from the dancing flames and sat down on one of the chairs as Dagonet had bid him.

"Aye, I can do that," he murmured softly as he studied the clean, spartan chamber, his eyes eventually falling upon the Roxolani's huge bed. "Though why you need me to stay when you already have company, I'll never know ..."

"What d'ya mean ?" Dagonet's husky voice was muffled as he rooted through an oak chest which held his medical tomes. His large frame was crouched over the chest, while he impatiently rifled through the various texts stored within its depths.

"Seems like you've company already, Dag- "

"Bollocks ! Just you 'n' me here, Yws. No one else."

"No ?" There was a trace of genuine amusement in the Siraci's voice. "Since when do you have a cat ? Always thought we weren't allowed to keep animals in our quarters."

"Cat ? What cat ?" Dagonet raised his head from the chest. The look on his face was one of mild confusion. "I don't have a cat."

Ywain grinned and tilted his head towards the direction of the other warrior's bed. "Well, my friend, it appears you do now."

Dagonet rose to his feet and looked at the bed. His gaze met the animal's enigmatic green eyes. It stared at him. Calmly. Boldly. And familiarly. And that's when realization struck. It was the same cat. The one who'd been staring unblinkingly from the alcove in the Round Table's chamber. And now the damn thing was, well, if he didn't know any better, studying him as if he were a goddamn mouse and lying in the middle of his fur-strewn bed as if it owned it. Dagonet glared at its cheek in disbelief. The cat, in turn, merely stretched its lithe body languidly then completely unphased, flicked its tail just once, curled up and continued to stare at the owner of the chamber.

" 'S not mine," Dagonet growled softly, "and I've no idea how the hell it got here either."

"Want me to get rid of it ?" Ywain began to rise from his chair only to stop when Dagonet shook his head slowly.

"Nah ... you've seen what the weather's like. Wouldn't go back outside myself tonight, let alone kick out the poor creature. Leave it be, Yws. It's doing no harm ..."

The slight, amiable Siraci sank back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. On your head be it if Arthur catches that beast in your quarters ..."

Dagonet shrugged. "What do I care what Arthur thinks. Like I said, it's a defenceless, harmless animal. It being here doesn't hurt anyone and more than likely it's far more trustworthy than most of the folk who live in this bloody fort. So, if it rids the place of any vermin it finds, as far as I'm concerned it can stay as long as it pleases ..."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Ywain said, "Trust you, Dag, to find a logical reason for keeping the beast. Well, as you rightly say, it does no harm and as like as not will prove to be peaceful company."

"Aye, that it will," the big man replied thoughtfully as he took the chair opposite his friend. "That it will ..."

It wasn't long after that the jet black feline chose to abandon its post on the bed and saunter leisurely towards the hearth, only to leap - much to Dagonet's surprize - onto the Roxolani's lap and curl up into a ball. Dagonet's lips curved into a faint grin and he began to absently stroke the cat's sleek pelt. Soon, its deep, raspy purr was the only audible sound in the room as both men sat drinking in companionable silence.

_**XXXXX**_

Moonlight bathed the silent chamber, its silvery beams gently caressing the slumbering form that lay in the centre of the huge bed.

A rustling sound broke the silence, followed by a gentle thud and the soft padding of paws across the chamber's old oak floorboards. A moment later, a tall, lean figure stepped out of the shadows and carefully approached the bed. Sighing gently, Lucan sat at the edge of the bed and drank in the sight of its occupant. Striking blue-green eyes appreciatively studied the sleeping Roxolani warrior beside him. The man slept soundly. The rise and fall of his broad, bare chest was deep and even and he snored gently. No wonder, Lucan mused as he recalled the dark circles of exhaustion around the Healer's intelligent, silver eyes. But now the man's scarred, rugged countenance, softened by sleep, finally looked at peace. And to the native Briton, the Sarmatian was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.

Completely mesmerized by the muscular knight, Lucan unconsciously inched closer. Something about the heartbroken Sarmatian called to the Woad, causing Lucan to feel inexplicably drawn to him. And the strange "pull" he'd felt to be at this stranger's side no matter what, grew stronger with each passing day. It was intense and heady. And nigh on impossible to resist ... not that he'd truly fought against it or wished to do so in any way. After all, the gods for reasons known only unto themselves had deemed this incomer, an enemy of his people, worthy to be his life partner and soul mate. And far be it for him to go against his gods' wishes ...

So, it was a blessing when Lucan first laid eyes upon the Roxolani warrior, that he found the man's rugged appearance so very appealing. That he couldn't help being attracted to him. And now, seeing Dagonet so close to hand and having shadowed him for most of the day, all the Mage could think of was the more he learnt of the older man's character and traits, the more he found to like and respect ... and along with that like and respect, the desire he felt for the quiet Healer intensified tenfold.

Captivated, Lucan slowly reached out his hand. For some unknown reason, he genuinely cared for this quiet knight, wanting nothing more than to see his suffering end and for him to be truly happy. To see that mouthwateringly attractive, strapping frame finally relax and lose its tension; to hear him laugh joyfully; to see those sensuous lips curve into a genuine smile and for those striking silver orbs to sparkle with life and mirth. But most of all, Lucan longed to be the one responsible for all of that. To be the one to help the Sarmatian move on with his life and forget the bastard who'd caused him so much pain and anguish. Just the thought of his Healer's former lover was enough to anger the young warlock. What he'd seen of the Aorsi Scout and his attitude towards Dagonet had left Lucan sorely wanting to see his rival bleed. To make him suffer, to feel pain as Dagonet had. Yet Lucan instinctively knew if he harmed even a single hair on the arrogant death-dealer's head and his mate got wind of it, it would kill any chance he'd ever have of being with him. And no matter how badly he wanted revenge for Dagonet, he wasn't prepared to lose the man before he even got a chance to be with him. For lose him he surely would if he acted rashly or did something the big man would not approve ...

An overwhelming need came over the shifter to touch the sleeping man. To feel hard, toned sinew beneath warm, firm skin. To feel the slide of those muscles as they flexed and appreciate the heat of that alluring, powerful physique. Lucan ran the tip of his tongue across his dry lips and swallowed hard. In all of his twenty six years, no one had ever succeeded in affecting him so intensely. And no one had made such an impression on him. The impact this one man alone had upon him - the draw he felt towards Dagonet - was staggering to say the least. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone ... badly. So badly that he ached. But it wasn't just desire he felt, it was something far more. Even though they'd never spoken or interacted in any way, the affection and respect he felt for Dagonet was genuine and heartfelt. And the intensity of those feelings was overwhelming.

"I wish you knew just how important you are to me, how precious ..." Lucan whispered, his gaze softening with affection as he watched Dagonet sleep. "That you mean everything to me. I feel ... Oh, gods ! Seems like I've waited a whole lifetime for you ... I've been so alone, drifting aimlessly like a leaf carried along by the wind ... felt so empty 'til now. But ... But you've given me a purpose at last, not that you know a damn thing about it. You're the one who's finally given my life meaning and I'm so grateful to you for that. So very grateful ..." he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I ... I wish ... I wish I could repay you some way. That I could somehow take away your suffering and make you forget. I hate seeing you in so much pain. You deserve better. So much better. And you deserve to be happy. To be respected. To be loved. I want you to have all those things and more than anything, be the one that makes you feel that way ... "

Lucan sighed gently, "I would have you know that I'd willingly do anything for you. Anything you'd ask or desire of me. And I'd do it happily if it kept you safe, well and happy. Even though I'm Woad and you're Sarmatian, I swear on my life and on all I hold sacred, that I'll always protect you and will do anything and everything in my power to keep you free from harm. This, my beloved wolf, I promise ... even if it means losing my kin or my life."

He was about to lightly graze his Healer's stubbled jaw with his fingertips, when Dagonet suddenly stirred. Lucan's breath hitched and he suddenly snatched his hand back as if he'd been scalded. Shying away from the bed, he prayed the strapping warrior wouldn't wake up and find him there, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to explain his presence in the older man's quarters. That Dagonet would find his privacy violated by a stranger. Blue-green eyes clouded with sorrow at the thought and Lucan reluctantly came to a decision.

His body began to glow faintly, then the glow began to subtly flicker and shimmer. Moments later, where once stood a tall, lean, handsome man sat a sleek, equally beautiful, black cat. It rose gracefully to its feet and padded softly across the old, oak floorboards until it reached the bed. Then with a single flick of its tail, it crouched before leaping onto the fur-covered bed. It didn't take long for it to reach its desired destination. Once there, the cat turned twice before settling down, curling into a ball and nestling against the Sarmatian's back, seeking warmth and safety.

Soon, all that could be heard was Dagonet's gentle snoring and the cat's contented, raspy purr.

_**XXXXX**_

_**Two weeks later:**_

Ywain sat back on his heels and watched with curiosity as Dagonet washed off the blood and gore from his hands in the cool stream. The skirmish had been quick, yet bloody and everyone, barring Galahad, had come out of the conflict relatively unscathed. Ywain had thought nothing of it when Gawain had waylaid and asked him to help Dagonet with their wounded "brother" since he, Gawain, had the unenviable task of keeping the peace between an irate Lancelot and an equally rabid Lamorak – who was being quietly spurred on by Bors, to give the hapless Iazgyes the much longed for arse-kicking he deserved.

Naturally, Ywain immediately leapt at the opportunity to work with Dag, even if it did involve patching up the whining, outspoken Halani. And considering how rarely he got the chance to spend time one-on-one with another healer, it was an opportunity he could ill afford to miss. Not when there was a chance to improve his skills and learn more of his craft from a person he held in high regard. There was no way in hell he was going to let such a rare and precious moment slip through his fingers.

Dagonet had worked on Galahad with brisk efficiency. His actions swift and sure and his concentration firmly fixed upon the stricken Whelp. His hands moved skilfully as he cleaned the deep gash on the young knight's thigh, then deftly and neatly sutured the wound closed, before binding it securely and handing the patient over to an anxious Gawain's tender mercies. Afterwards both of the Sarmatian Healers watched a doped-up-to-the-eyeballs Galahad hobble off, using his much put upon and resigned shield-mate as a crutch, moaning all the while about the pain.

A sudden snort of ill-concealed amusement soon had Ywain turning to his right. There, he found Dagonet shaking his head and grinning faintly at the sight of his Halani brethren staggering towards their horses. It was followed by another snort, as Gawain struggled to keep the grumpy Whelp upright as he propped him up against the grey gelding.

Ywain laughed softly. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally, albeit slowly, returning to normal, well ... as normal as anything could ever be in this gods-forsaken, hellhole of a country.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Never were mine. _Still_ not mine ... and knowing my luck, never will be mine – gods-dammit !

**Warning: **Strictly AU & _not _related to the rest of my KA fics. Contains strong language - yup, the boys, gods love 'em, are still potty mouthed. No change there then ...

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter V**

Dagonet stood motionless in the middle of the stable, seemingly in a daze. He'd been feeling "off" most of the day, but had put it down to not sleeping very well. A sudden movement caught his eye and he barely made out the small, sleek form of a cat bolting through the stable doors as if being chased by Annwn himself and his pack of ethereal hounds. The flash of all too familiar jet fur and cool emerald eyes instantly dragged the Sarmatian Healer out of his stupor. Slowly shaking his head, Dagonet made to follow the beast, by now clearly under the impression it had been stalking him for most of the day.

But it was too late. By the time he'd reached the stable door, the agile, fleet-footed animal had gone. Had disappeared into the night as effortlessly as an inish vanishing into thin air.

Incredulously, Dagonet shook his head, raised a trembling hand and tentatively rubbed his callused hand against his nape. It was impossible, what he'd thought had happened during the night ... He _must _have dreamt it. Had to have imagined that attractive, husky voice talking softly to him in the wee small hours. The words had been so genuine and heartfelt. The emotion had been palpable and certainly not feigned. It had caught Dagonet off-guard. Blind-sided him completely. So much so, that he'd frozen. Yet considering how tired he'd felt of late, it was no wonder he hadn't reacted and had believed he'd dreamt another's presence in his quarters. Had imagined those mesmerizing, tempting words. Words which had tantalized and enthralled him. Words he'd never believed would be directed to him. Dagonet closed his eyes and groaned softly as he tried to figure out why those words had been spoken to him. Him of all people ! Shy, awkward, dull, scarred Dagonet. The one who'd lost nearly everyone who ever meant something to him and was deemed not attractive enough to be worthy of love and being loved. And now, here he was hallucinating a presence that gave him, albeit briefly, solace and hope and made him feel cherished ... and all this could be blamed on his confused state of mind, anguish and crippling loneliness.

Still shaking his head in stunned disbelief, Dagonet stalked out of the stables towards the tavern, in the vain hope that some ale and a generous serving of rabbit stew with fresh bread would help settle the unease and confusion he felt.

_**XXXXX**_

Once at the tavern - having already spotted his cousin busy plotting some mischief over a large ewer of Vanora's finest with Lamorak and Ywain - instead of seeking out his brethren, Dagonet headed for the kitchen, knowing full well that would be the only place which would provide him enough peace and quiet to mull over what had happened the previous night ... or what he'd thought had happened.

The kitchen, thankfully, was blessedly free of the wenches who sometimes gathered there to gossip and giggle over the men who frequented the tavern. _Thank goddess ! _Dagonet thought, relieved that he wouldn't have to endure their inane chatter and cackling. He made his way to the back of the room to the huge oak table where Van often sat plucking fowl and skinning rabbits and where she often stood kneading bread. It seemed as if the feisty bar-keep had everything well in hand that evening. The aroma of freshly-baked bread permeated the kitchen. It was tantalizingly mouthwatering. As was the smell that wafted gently from the vast, black cauldron above the fire. Dagonet closed his eyes and inhaled deeply the scent of fresh vegetables and roasted rabbit and grinned sheepishly as his stomach gave a low rumble, gently reminding him of his hunger.

It had been a long day and he was knackered. Both in body and mind. Other than Arthur's highly dubious and unusual decision to have that bastard, Lancelot, ride out with them for the second time this week, patrol had been no different than usual ... though that decision had not gone down well with other members of the brethren, with both Rak and Bors voicing their grievances rather vociferously. Bors had already been in a foul mood before setting off, after Arthur had pulled him and Dagonet aside with the bad tidings that their release papers had been delayed yet again for another week. Needless to say, both Roxolani had been extremely disappointed by the news, especially since this was the second time their release papers had failed to make an appearance, although Dagonet had been more reticent when it came to showing his displeasure. Bors, meanwhile, had no such qualms about sharing his feelings and now, throughout their patrol, the task of reining in the gobby pugilist had fallen upon the equally volatile Lamorak ... something which didn't bode well for any poor soul who had the misfortune to cross their paths.

Dagonet sat at the table and leant forward, his elbows rested on the knotted surface of the table; head bowed with his long fingers interlaced at the back of his skull. There had been something about the husky, soothing voice in his dream that had made his heart race. Made him feel lightheaded. And above all, for the first time in weeks, had sent the blood rushing to his nethers, making him impossibly hard ... and inexplicably yearning to hear that warm, seductive voice again. And again and again ...

"Shit ... Shit ... Shit ... _SHIT ! _" he muttered, allowing his weary eyelids to shield confused, tempestuous, dark silver orbs. "What the fuck's happening to me ?"

He was startled from his musing by the feel of a small hand resting on his shoulder. Unlacing his fingers, his head jerked upward and he found himself gazing at his cousin's lover, who was silently watching him. The beautiful redhead's smooth brow was furrowed in concern, her soft dark eyes full of warmth and compassion.

"Dag ? You all right ?" she asked quietly.

He slowly shook his head. "No, Van. I don't think I am ..." he replied hesitantly, the tone of his deep, rich voice husky.

Vanora sighed softly and drew a chair to sit beside the shy giant. "Want to talk about it, big man ? It won't go any further than us, I swear ... I won't even tell Bors ... unless you want me to ?"

Dagonet merely shook his head once more and pulled his lower lip between his teeth then began to worry it. He looked pensive. "I ... I don't know what to do, Van ..."

She reached across and laid a small hand on top of his, curling her long, slim fingers around it, then gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, y'know what they say, Dag ... a trouble shared and all that bollocks ... If you think talking to me will help, then I'm only too happy to listen. I won't judge you or anything, but you look as if you're carrying all the weight of the world on those broad shoulders and ... and I'd like to help, if you'll let me ?"

The tall Healer frowned and then nodded slowly. Silver eyes met dark pools and saw nothing in their depths except sincerity and kindness. "I'd like that, but only if you have the time- "

Vanora snorted and gave the large hand beneath hers another squeeze. "Ach ... I make time for those I love, you idiot. And you're family, Dag. I care and worry about you. Just want you to be happy 's all ... So, quit faffing about, open that yap of yours and spill !"

He managed a rueful grin and agitatedly rubbed his nape with his free hand. "My life ... My life's just a gods-damned fucking mess right now, Van ... I don't know where to bloody start- "

"Then start at the beginning, y'daft bugger ! I've got plenty of time."

"You're busy- "

"Not too busy to talk to my kin when they're having a rough time. I'm going nowhere ... Besides, _they, _" she tilted her head in the direction of the tavern bar, "can manage perfectly well without me for a while. Now, tell me what's eating away at you. If it helps, just use a word or two to describe what's making you fret so badly ..."

Feeling slightly uneasy, the Roxolani broke eye contact and looked away before reluctantly muttering, "I … I think I'm slowly losing my mind ..."

Her disbelieving chuckle instantly turned into an uncomfortable cough the moment she realized he was being serious. Vanora uneasily tucked a stray lock of auburn curls behind her ear and looked up at the younger Roxolani. She was dismayed by his appearance. By how his brow was creased in worry, the frown lines on his rugged countenance and the dark circles shadowing his weary, anguished silver eyes.

"Away with you, man ... That's a load of horse shit ! You ? The most rational, sane Sarmatian I know, going mad ? Bollocks !" Vanora snapped briskly, hating the way her lover's kinsman doubted himself.

"It's true !" he protested vehemently, managing to look as miserable as a kicked puppy.

"Da-ag ! Oh, never mind ... Just tell me what happened. Right from the very beginning," Vanora softly demanded. "Then I'll tell you what I think." And after that gentle command, Dagonet haltingly began to confide what was praying on his mind. Everything. Every single detail of his "dream" from the previous night.

_**XXXXX**_

Afterwards, Van rose from the table and began to walk towards the bar, only to pause mid-way as Dagonet called after her.

"Thought you were going to share your thoughts with me ?"

She turned her head and watched him over her shoulder, then gave him an impish grin before replying, "Aye, so I was ..." And to the Roxolani's astonishment, continued walking. She returned shortly with a large ewer and two large goblets and placed them on the table in front of the burly knight.

"You hungry ?"

He nodded. It had been a while since he'd had any sustenance and now his stomach was complaining that his throat had been cut. Nodding in satisfaction, Vanora bustled around the kitchen gathering a plate of freshly baked bread, a large bowl of steaming hot stew and a spoon then set them all down in front of him.

"Eat !"

She did not have to tell him twice. He tore into the bread and began to devour it like a starving man. Smiling to herself, Vanora poured out the ale into the goblets and settled back down in her chair to study him. Out of all of the brethren - with the exception of Bors, of course - Dagonet was the one she doted upon. The one she regarded as a brother. And the one she felt the most protective towards, due to his shyness and gentle, quiet nature.

"So ?" Dagonet began, amid mouthfuls of bread and spoonfuls of stew. "You were sayi- "

Vanora shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Plenty of time for that after you've eaten, big man ... Like I said, _I'm_ going nowhere. So, stop jawing and finish eating." She pretended not to hear a disgruntled mumbled remark from across the table referring to a "bossy, demanding wench" and smirked behind her goblet.

Once he'd finished his meal, Dagonet sat back in his chair, eyed his companion expectantly and growled, "_Well_ _?_ "

Vanora leisurely sipped some ale from her goblet and pondered over her reply. Carefully taking her time to choose her words. "Well, the way I see it, what you say sounds like a prediction of sorts ... Seems you've somehow found a way to see your future. The voice you speak of could well be the one you're destined to be with ... The one the gods deem to be your true soul mate and that Tristan wasn't worthy of you and never will be ..."

The scarred warrior suddenly threw his head back and began to laugh bitterly. Disbelief was etched across his rugged features and he shook his head in denial. "No, Van ... You've got it wrong. A soul mate chosen by the gods ? No one would ever think of me in that light. _No one will love me_. Could _ever_ love me ... After all, what's there to love ? _Nothing. _I am not one to be cared for in that way ... I'm unworthy of that kind of love and I'm not one who inspires that strength and depth of feeling in anyone. No, I_ may _be liked, but _only_ as a friend ... a brother-in-arms. Nothing more. Nothing less ..."

Shocked by how poorly Bors' kinsman regarded himself, Vanora reached across and grabbed hold of his hand. She spoke with a quiet fierceness she hadn't directed at him before. "Dag, you poor, misguided bastard, you've got it so very, very wrong. There's plenty to love. Anyone would be fortunate to have you for a lover- " She ignored his sceptically raised eyebrow and the barely audible snort he gave. "D'ya hear me ? And anyone who's unable to see that is a gods-damned fool. You _are_ worthy of love, even if _you're_ too blind to bloody see it !"

Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes to hide the anguish they held and firmly bit his lip. Eventually, he met her gaze once again. His eyes were bright, full of sorrow and regret. "Look at me, Van ... I may have been naive, but I'm no longer that gullible fool. _I know what I am _... what I look like ... how I seem to others and I'll not delude myself into believing otherwise. This," he pointed to his face and stated bluntly, almost spitting out the venom he directed towards himself, "this isn't a face that can or will ever be loved and no one will be able to convince me of otherwise. I'm not stupid, I hear what people say about me ... _Poor Dagonet. So quiet. So dull. So afflicted. Who'd want him ? _And they're right ! _Who _in their right mind would _want this ? _Who _could_ love me ? Fuck ! Tristan couldn't ... I was fool enough to believe he could. But I was so damn wrong. He chose _him_ ... that fucking Iazyges over me. That's how little he thought of me. I truly thought he loved me, but it was all a lie ... A gods-damned fucking lie ... I'm better off alone. At least then it doesn't hurt so much ..." He reached for his goblet and took a deep draught from it, pausing only to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic before re-filling the vessel once more.

Vanora impatiently swept a swathe of titian hair over a slim shoulder and decided to play dirty. She hated the thought of what she was about to say, that her words would both hurt and anger him; but the thought of the young Roxolani remaining lonely and miserable was far worse than incurring his potential wrath.

"Dag, you _can't_ go on like this. Isolating yourself from everyone. Stealing away from anyone who tries to get close to you. I know you're still bloody hurting ... that Tristan treated you like shit. But _you_ did nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve any of it. You shouldn't be the one confined to solitude ... to be lonely and alone. It's _not_ fair and it certainly _isn't_ right. But it's time you moved on. Stopped brooding over that bloody Aorsi and ... and ... Oh ! You need to find someone that's far more worthy of you and your love. Time you got back on the horse so to speak and found another pair of leathers to covet and unlace !"

She watched him rub his eyelids with the callused pads of his thumb and forefinger, before using them to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I daren't, Van ..." He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. "I can't go through that again ... I'm not strong enough. I can't allow myself to endure that kind of pain. Tri- ... That bastard almost broke me with his lies ... his duplicity. I'm barely holding myself together as it is. I daren't allow myself to get close to anyone like that anymore."

Taking in the pain and anguish in those pale orbs and how bereft the man sounded, Vanora felt her heart begin to break a little for him. She rose to her feet and silently wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort. She felt him tense briefly then relax in her embrace. Long, sinewy arms gradually wound around her slender waist and she was aware of the heat emanating from his hard, powerful torso as he gently held her tiny, curvaceous frame close.

Vanora carefully disentangled herself from the giant's embrace and stepped back from him. "Take my advice, Dag. Sleep on it. Things usually appear clearer in the morning after a good night's rest. Time I got back to work, methinks ... before Bors decides to wager all of tonight's takings !" She grabbed a clean cloth and bent down to brush her lips against the scarred Healer's temple. "Remember what I said, love. Don't act in haste. Mull it over carefully. I've every faith you'll come to the right decision. That you'll do what's right in the end."

And with a mischievous wink and a sly grin, Van left the kitchen in a flurry of skirts, hoping that her final remark had been enough to sway the strapping knight into making the right decision.


End file.
